


in mysterious fathoms below

by starblessed



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Drowning, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Minor Character Death, Shipwrecks, merfolk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: With a great storm brewing on the surface, a young merman ventures up above and finds more than he bargained for.------------------As soon as he surfaced to spot a brightly-lit vessel only a few dozen yards away, Shifty should have known. He ought to have known, and really, he did.Darrell Powers,the voice in his head that sounded much like his Mamma scolded,if you have half the sense Llŷr have a guppy, you’ll make yourself scarce.No moon was worth getting caught by the Men up above. Every Mer was taught to fear them from the moment they could flip their fins. Shifty wasn’t any different — he knew better.So nothing could explain the strange pull he felt towards the vessel — like he was caught up in a current, drawn closer whether he wanted to or not.
Relationships: Shifty Powers/Floyd Talbert
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	in mysterious fathoms below

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

Before a great storm, the oceans writhe and roil, charged with an energy far beyond the imagination of landborne things. No one can predict what the sea will do; when she lashes out, roaring fury with waves towering high, all are powerless against it. No force in the world is as powerful as the ocean, or as willful. She is alive — alive with sealife as well as her own tempestuous nature — and to underestimate her is the doom of any living thing.

Now, when a body spends their entire life below the waves, they learn the waters easy as breathing. It all becomes familiar after a while. The buzz in the water right before a big storm; the shifting of the tides; how schools of fish swim against the currents, as if they’re escaping something… it all adds up, like the ocean itself is whispering a warning out loud. Bound to be a storm tonight. Gonna be a big one. Get ready.

Above the waves, great storms are something to be feared. To those below, they don’t make more than a ripple’s worth of difference.

Popeye had raised his eyebrows when Shifty declared he’d be going to the surface that night, all signs of an imminent storm be damned. Some things are worth getting tossed around by angry waves for. Last Shifty checked, the supermoon wouldn’t come around again for months, and he needed some fresh supermoon water to last that long. Llŷr knows he wouldn’t be the only one who dared risk it.

He couldn't have predicted the calm before the storm, though. It was rare, in this corner of the ocean — as rare as seeing a ship passing through, which happened once in a blue moon. They weren’t that far off from the coast, but most Man made vessels had better things to do with their time than drift so near land. There were more exciting waters to be found than the quiet currents Shifty called home.

As soon as he surfaced to spot a brightly-lit vessel only a few dozen yards away, Shifty should have known. He ought to have known, and really, he did. _Darrell Powers,_ the voice in his head that sounded much like his Mamma scolded, _if you have half the sense Llŷr have a guppy, you’ll make yourself scarce._ No moon was worth getting caught by the Men up above. Every Mer was taught to fear them from the moment they could flip their fins. Shifty wasn’t any different — he knew better.

So nothing could explain the strange pull he felt towards the vessel — like he was caught up in a current, drawn closer whether he wanted to or not. The nearer he got, the clearer the great ship became… and it surely was something to see. Like a massive star on the waterline, it twinkled and danced, lit from above with gleaming lanterns strung across the deck. The great wooden hull stretched up from the water, towering overhead; it’s darkness was a stark contrast to the light crowning it. Music carried through the air, over the softly-churning waves — a lively tune, from some instrument Shifty had never heard before. Voices shouted, hooted, hollered; silhouettes galloped across the deck, caught in some rollicking dance. And in the middle of it all, at the center of this storm of Men, was…

Shifty’s breath caught in his throat; the gills along his ribs momentarily stuttered, scales at his neck suddenly feeling dry. He drew even closer, unconscious of his own movements. Treading water along the bow, his powerful, silver-finned tail kept him afloat. Were the ship moving, he might have to work to keep up… but with it anchored, his only preoccupation was remaining unseen. He pressed into the shadows, gaping up at the brightly lit deck. Wide brown eyes followed the man, golden and glowing, as he twirled and danced across the deck.

The grin on his face was near-blinding. His hair was closely-cut, messy, as though he’d run his fingers through it too many times; his white shirt was loosely buttoned, revealing a toned chest. When he tossed his head back, the torchlight caught against the tan of his skin, and he seemed to glow.

So this was a Man. Shifty had never seen one in person before, certainly not this close. Never before had he been seized with the desire to study, to follow the fellow’s movements and keep track of each leap. Not once, in a lifetime of sometimes-questionable choices — thank you, Popeye — had he ever wanted to get close to the world above.

Would being seen by this Man be a bad thing? He didn’t sport any fangs, no malicious gleam in his eye; he wasn’t hurling harpoons or fishing nets to catch ignorant Merfolk unawares. Surely there were bad Men, like all the stories said… but for the life of him, Shifty could not believe this was one.

He seemed too gentle to hurt anybody. Too joy-filled, too… _alive._ His soul shone through his smile, and my, was it beautiful.

The music died down as the song came to an end. It’s absence was drowned out by laughter from above. In the middle of the fray, Shifty’s gaze could not leave that Man, even for a moment. His fellow sailors slapped his back, dancing around him. His grin shone brighter. Clearly, he reveled in the company.

“I’m here,” Shifty breathed, too low to be heard over the noise from up above. “I’m here too. Right below you. Can you feel me?”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, the Man turned, hollering something to the band. Seconds later, the music picked up once again with a new tune. The Man seized a young lady by the arm, reeling her towards him. Together they began to prance across the deck, buoyed by the lively melody.

All Shifty could do was gaze up. The shadowed distance separating that brightly lit deck from the fathoms below created both a veil and a barrier. He could not cross it; to those golden people up above, he did not exist. Something inside of him churned, like the tempestuous sea itself. Feelings he’d never before even contemplated bubbled within him, one after the other, threatening to wash him away. Hunger… no, different. Excitement… yes, but something else too, something stronger and emptier, something aching within him…

 _Yearning._ There it was.

My, how he _yearned._

To be held in the golden limelight of that handsome man’s stare; to be met with his smile, to be the one held close to him, leaping and twirling around the deck. Oh, to be among that happy crowd — to be beside him! What would it be like? How would it feel?

Now, you know that can’t be so, the sensible voice in the back of his mind scolded. Men and merfolk don’t mix. We stay apart for good reasons.

Even so, all those sensible reasons were drowned out by the Man’s laughter, rising above the waves.

The waves — _rising_. Llŷr’s sake, they were! As soon as the realization dawned on him, Shifty cursed himself for being so careless. In the countless minutes he’d wasted, soaking in the antics of the Men up above, the ocean’s pitch had picked up. No longer were the waves churning ominously; they’d moved beyond that, into full pitch-and-roll. As they lashed the sides of the ship, the people above fought to keep their footing. Laughter rang out louder, raising over the music. To them, it was all a game.

Shifty knew better. He felt it in his veins, thrumming through his blood. The waters were angry.

Being above wasn’t safe any longer. He ducked below the waves; as the water closed over his head, he half-hoped whatever instinct tethering him to the people above would be severed. No such luck. Instead, something inside of him bellowed, an incoherent roar of urgency. They weren’t paying one lick of attention, too caught up in their own fun. They couldn’t feel the ocean like Shifty could. They didn’t know.

With one flick of his powerful tail, the waters parted effortlessly for him. Shifty surged below the ship like a bullet, finding himself on the other side in seconds. He hovered a safe distance below, gazing up as the great shadowy beast overhead began to thrash.

Buffeted by the ocean’s growing fury, the ship was helpless. As the waves stirred up, they pitched and rolled within it, forced down low in the waves before surging back up on another outraged swell. Though blind to the struggle of the crew above, Shifty could see it in flashes: ropes lashing out for purchase, lantern flames catching and igniting, sails going up in a matter of seconds… and the bodies as they hit the water, flung one after the other from their safe berth into the abyss. From such a distance, they were nothing but silhouettes, thrashing and writhing in the waters above… but it did not take long for the thrashing to stop. They grew more defined as they sunk. Shifty studied a man’s bearded face as he drifted past on his way to the bottom; his fingers caught in a woman’s loose moonsilver hair. A face drifted by, mouth agape and eyes wide, and for a moment, Shifty was sure he’d been spotted… but the man’s eyes were empty, dull. They shone like black diamonds on his way to the bottom.

This was the natural order of life. Men were not meant for the sea. It would swallow them whole, given half the chance, and still they did not fear it enough. Shifty felt no grief as the souls slowly foundered… only a great hollow in his chest where his heart should have been.

The Man. That golden, dancing Man. Where was he?

A sudden urgency spiked within him. Shifty looked up at the mass of dark forms thrashing in the water above. The ship was a roaring ball of flame; as the sails burned, the waters were thrust into eerie orange oblivion. It wasn’t much light… but as Shifty propelled himself upwards, slicing through the drowning figures, it was just enough. He darted from body to body, too focused to worry about being seen, and moving too fast to register in the minds of desperate, drowning people. He couldn’t save everyone, even if he tried. But that Man —

No, sir, the law of the sea shouldn’t be his undoing. Not a Man like that, so full of life. Not a man who glowed like the spirit of the full moon was within him, shining from the inside-out… Shifty remembered every detail of his silhouette, had a clumsy outline of his face memorized from a distance. He could spot him in a tidal wave; he could spot him in a storm; he could recognize him even in the darkness, where the ocean ends and the abyss begins.

And there --- _there_. He saw him _now_ — just another figure, lurching and thrashing as the waves dragged him down.

Shifty’s arms caught around his waist, stopping his descent. The Man was a heavy weight against his chest, violently thrashing — not at Shifty, but at the waters themselves, the only enemy he was coherent enough to recognize. Fighting wouldn’t do either of them much good, but Shifty didn’t give up so easy. Instead, he locked on tight, refusing to let the Man thrash his way out of his grasp, and kicked his tail upwards. They shot towards the surface.

It was one thing to see it from below… but above, the ship was a colossus from hell itself, a great monster in its death throes fighting not to sink below the waves. Flames reached out with rabid tendrils, catching on debris and bodies tumbling over the burning rails; with the rain still holding itself at bay, waiting out this great fury, the ship’s only relief was the sea. Fire waged war against the waves eager to consume it… but against the brutal winds and thrashing waters, it could not hold out for long.

The Man gave one massive sputter, and what felt like a breath. After that, he was nothing but dead weight in Shifty’s grasp.

With fire in his eyes and the sky burning above, Shifty turned his back on the burning vessel, and focused on the task at hand. _A body can only do what it can,_ he told himself, propelling away from the shipwreck. _And this fella here has done enough._

Now, it was Shifty’s turn.

* * *

Floyd faded back to consciousness to a burning in his chest, and warmth like honey flowing through his limbs.

It took him a moment to gather his bearings, and he collected them all before trying to open his eyes. He was on solid ground — sand, if the grittiness against his bare skin was any clue — and his clothes were soaked. Even the sunlight, beating directly down on his body, could only dry him so fast. From what his hazy mind recalled, he’d gotten one hell of a soaking. His entire body ached, the exhaustion threading through his limbs maybe the only thing holding him together at all… and somewhere, as if from very far away, someone was speaking to him. Someone with a voice like a familiar memory, soft and gentle as a dream.

His eyes fluttered open — just in time to see a silhouette above him startle and dart out of view.

He tried to call for them to wait, It came out as a croak. His throat was scraped ragged, burning worse than his lungs with each breath he sucked in. Vision still hazy, Floyd struggled to force himself up. His body gave out on him not even halfway through the effort. He collapsed back onto the sand with a groan. For the moment, it was all he could do to soak in the sun, and appreciate being alive.

He was alive, somehow. The how’s-and-why’s of that were a mystery. Last he could recall, he was fighting the water, and the water was winning. As panic locked itself around his chest, squeezing the last of his air out in a rush of bubbles, his last hope of survival evaporated with it.

Yet here he was, with fresh air in his lungs and — unless this was some kind of heaven — life in his body. It shouldn’t be possible. Was it… a miracle?

Had he been saved?

“You.” That word did come out clear, at least. With all the energy he could summon, he locked his grip around the mysterious stranger’s wrist. A broad hand went still, hovering just over Floyd’s chest. Floyd tugged it down, so that they were pressing down on him, touching him, even in a small way. When he forced his eyes open again, they were still too blurred to make anything out clearly… he could see a silhouette in plain view, with muscled shoulders and dark eyes looking down at him.

Something in that gaze was so impossibly kind, It brought tears to his eyes.

“You saved me. Saved my life.” He could barely croak out the words, but he needed confirmation. It came in a single nod of the stranger’s head. “Th-thank you.”

For a moment, the stranger said nothing at all. Then Floyd felt another hand press down on his shoulder, massaging lightly into the sore muscles while urging him back down onto the sand. Floyd slumped, all his energy spent; it was all he could do to keep his eyes half-open.

“There, now. You’ve had an awful time, and I declare, it’ll take you a good while to recover. Once you’re well again... you won’t recall this at all.”

“Not true,” Floyd murmured. “I’ll remember you.”

The stranger was quiet for a moment, before heaving a sigh. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to see you again. Want to… thank you.” Floyd’s grip on the man’s hand tightened, weak but earnest. “You gotta let me thank you.”

“So long as you’re alive, that’s all the thanks I need.”

“You… you’re an angel,” Floyd couldn’t help murmuring — and maybe all that seawater was making him delirious, because he usually had much better game. His mysterious savior laughed anyways.

“No, certainly not. I declare, my Mama might’ve been, she was the most patient woman you ever did meet, but —“ He cut off, sighing. Floyd felt a rough-palmed hand caress his jaw. “You’re a very lucky man.”

“Be the luckiest fella in the world... if I knew your name.”

Leave it to Floyd Talbert to still flirt while laying half-drowned on a beach.

The man chuckled again, and his touch left Floyd’s cheek. He missed it immediately, like a bandage torn from a wound and stinging something fierce. He made a murmur of disapproval, but it was no use. The man’s other hand pulled away too, leaving Floyd suddenly feeling alone, deafened by the absence of him.

For a moment, he was sure his savior had gone entirely… until he felt a breath against his ear, and a voice, soft as a sigh.

“Maybe we’ll find each other again. Maybe you’ll know me.”

“I will,” Floyd replied, resolute. “No doubt. I promise you that.”

The presence lingered at his side for a moment longer… and then, a splash echoed from the distance, and Floyd knew he was alone.

It took a long time for him to summon the energy to sit up; it was an even longer time before he could make it to his hands and knees, and crawl his way up the beach. No surprise that his rescuer left nothing behind, not even footprints in the sand… but disappointment rang in Floyd’s chest anyways, to be left without a trace of him.

That night, and many nights afterwards, he stared out at the sea from his bedroom window, and imagined he could hear a soft voice calling for him. A half-forgotten caress tingled on his cheek; a promise rang in his ears.

Floyd Talbert kept his word, and this one he was bound to keep. He’d find his rescuer… even if he had to comb every inch of the sea, and search til his dying day.

The moment he saw him again, he’d know.


End file.
